Habari Rafiki (friends),

It has been quite a long time since I last posted a blog. Many reasons—travel, lack of a working, reliable internet connection, sheer busyness. I will try to convey some of the adventures of the past few months.

On September 1, we celebrated our first year in Africa on safari with Michael and Marisa in Masai Mara—probably the best-known game park in Kenya. We caught the last weeks of the wildebeest migration—by the time we were there, the long grassland had been cropped short by thousands of wildebeests (also known as gnus). Our first evening game drive was highlighted by a halfhearted chase of a zebra by an obviously well-fed cheetah. Our guide, Stephen, laughed—the zebra was far too big for the cheetah to bring down alone. It was as if the cheetah thought she should put on a show for her 7-vehicle audience.

Parts of the game drive were wondrous—seeing the beauty of the sunrise over the eastern hills, being the lone car to see a herd of elephants silently emerge from a thicket of scrub trees, following the single file migration of thousands of wildebeests on the horizon, watching four giraffes feed on acacia trees in the morning mist—their almost prehensile tongues curling gently around the leaves among the thorns. Other stories were sad—a baby wildebeest wandering aimlessly alone far from any herd, the remains of his mother’s body being devoured by vultures and maribou storks. The baby kept approaching the carcass—the smell was overpowering. Stephen predicted that the same lion that killed the mother would be back for the baby that night. I was glad Kelly was not with us—those are the kinds of stories that broke her heart when she was little.

We drove down the Mara river valley to one of the crossing points for the famous wildebeest migration—we saw just a few stragglers crossing but found scores of dead wildebeest bodies floating in the river, bloating on the gravel beneath the rapids, one hippo eating a dead wildebeest in the river—plunging up and down with the body in its mouth. And all along, I thought hippos were strict vegetarians.

Oddly enough, for me, the safari was spiritual as well—as we watched lions feeding on a freshly killed carcass, the words from Matthew 26 came to me, “Take and eat, this is my body…Drink…this is my blood…” I became intensely aware of the brutality of Christ’s death—and how we are made alive because of his death and resurrection.

In late September, we flew to the US for a much needed break. Michael met us at O’Hare in Chicago; we borrowed his car for the two weeks and drove to Door County, Wisconsin, stopping on our first day just north of Milwaukee at a shopping mall. I know that people sometimes disparage the people in the US, but we consistently met wonderful people. One lady couldn’t make change for my dollar for our parking meter so just gave me 3 quarters. I bought some cosmetics and ended up spending about 45 minutes talking with the 27 year old single mom who wanted so much to raise her son with good values and a serious work ethic. Our spirits were uplifted and encouraged by those and other similar interactions.

Our destination was a small island in Sawyer Bay—an indentation along Green Bay. We took the pontoon boat over, ferrying our luggage and groceries. My sister Ginni drove from Lancaster to join us a few days later. We had one glorious early fall day to tour the peninsula before the storm hit—70 mph winds, multiple leaks in the cottage roof, loss of electricity and water—and no cell phone or internet access. By the time the winds ceased and we were able to return to the mainland (minus the canopy for the pontoon boat which had been torn off in the gale), we found that the road out was blocked by a large fallen tree—other trees had been uprooted (they call it tipping) but amazingly had fallen in between the closely grouped cabins—no cabin had sustained more than minor damage and no person had been hurt. We learned that the reason that trees “tip” there is that the soil is only a few feet deep—below it is rock—so the trees cannot put down deep roots and thus are vulnerable to being blown over. It was a dramatic illustration of how important it is to have deep roots.

After a worker held up the downed (and dead) electric lines behind Ginni’s car, she was able to leave. Julie and Art were to have arrived that night, but the flights had been cancelled because of widespread storms. The next day, Saturday, Leland and I moved over to a cottage on the mainland (where we had electricity and water) and Julie and Art arrived later that evening. We again toured the peninsula and even took a ferry to Washington Island, the “highlight” of that trip being a tour on the “Viking Train” where we stopped at an Ostrich farm (Leland and I declined the tour since we had just seen ostriches in the wild in Kenya). We all decided that the Viking Tour would be a once in a lifetime experience that we need never suffer again. On Monday, Leland’s sister Mary arrived—fortunately overlapping with Julie and Art so the family had time to reconnect. It was so good to spend time with our family—we miss them.

We also found renewed and deep appreciation for so many things we used to take for granted—wide, well-paved, smooth roads, good signage, going out to restaurants, laundromattes, toilet paper and paper towels in restrooms, work crews to fix downed power lines. I miss the energy of the people in Wisconsin, the forthrightness.

We had an adventure (ok, so we got really lost—this time I’ll admit it) two weeks ago. We were invited to a reception at the US ambassador’s home for those who work with people with disabilities. US citizens’ tax money has gone to excellent use; the residence is tasteful without being ostentatious; the food was delicious but not excessive, and Judy and Scott Gration are excellent hosts and represent our country beautifully. Toward the end of the evening, though, all the lights went out. As we left in complete darkness, I mentioned to Judy my surprise at the lack of emergency generators. She said they have emergency generators but that those hadn’t kicked on—the first time that had happened. Of course, I’m looking in the bushes for the terrorists. The whole area was without power, so as we drove away, we made a few wrong turns—we finally reached a familiar road—the new Thika road (built by the Chinese government)—but apparently went north in the direction of Thika instead of south in the direction of town. We found out something very interesting—one can get on the road to Thika but there are no exits. Ninety minutes later, we found ourselves far north of the city in the worst jumble of cars going in every direction (a bus was coming toward us in our “lane” --I use that term loosely--leaning ominously at a 45 degree angle. Three hours after leaving the ambassador’s residence, as we were back in Nairobi and were approaching the Mennonite House where we were to spend the night, we hit a pothole and felt/heard the whump-whump of a flat tire. It was nearly midnight, it was raining, it was on a less than wondrously safe road in Nairobi (the police shoot people dead there with some regularity). Leland pulled over at a matatu pick up point (deserted) and Charles, a security guard, stepped out of the shadows, saluted us smartly, and proceeded to help us change the tire—in fact, he did the bulk of the work. We are blessed to find wonderful people in Kenya as well as in the US.

Leland and I have spent some time reflecting on this past year. We expected it to be hard to make the transition from living in the US to making our home here. The ways in which it has been hard, though, have surprised us. We thrive on the long hours and complex cases, we so enjoy the interactions with the patients and families. We are encouraged by working with many nurses and support staff—we often feel that we are working together as a team. Our Swahili is improving polepole (slowly) so that we can carry on rudimentary conversations—at least can ask questions; sometimes if the patient is garrulous, we don’t completely understand the answers. We love learning a new language and look forward to each lesson with Edward. We are so inspired by the vista out of our apartment window—and now that the weather has changed, the mountain range on the western rim of the Rift valley is again in view. I find that the simplicity of life (no TV, no radio, no easily accessible stores) helps me focus on my spiritual growth.

What we find hard is having few close friends of our age with whom we can share problems—though we are becoming close to our pastor and his wife, Sam and Cindy.Wolff in Nairobi. We find that the bureaucracy of this hospital is little different from that of those in the States. We are often surprised by the lack of good communication among the administrators so that decisions that have been made have not been communicated; other longstanding problems have not been addressed, problems that are of significant importance are not shared with us until it is nearly too late to resolve them. We still are surprised with the “disappearances” of items—my stethoscope (which was later found), my infrared thermometer, our umbrella (which was mysteriously returned three days later). Some of the things are small, some are hard to replace—it is discouraging to not be able to trust that if something is put in a particular place it will be there later. It continues to be hard that poverty prevents access to care that is taken for granted in the US. The sheer number of deaths continues to stun us—I have seen more babies die in the past year than in my previous 38 years of nursing.

Some people have asked about the safety here since the Kenyan army entered Somalia in search of Al Shaabab. We have seen definite improvements in security in Nairobi—the mall where we grocery shop has installed gates so that every car is searched (boot [trunk] opened, mirrors under the car, etc), there are more visible security personnel patrolling. Many westerners are avoiding shopping malls and restaurants entirely—we have decided to just be more vigilant and to not sit in outside cafes. Here in Kijabe, we see trouble of a different sort—there was a carjacking recently, a young Kijabe Village resident is on drugs and has been harassing some of the missionaries and RVA female students. People throughout Kenya are becoming more desperate as inflation skyrockets and more people are going hungry. The hospital recently added an armed guard (the AK47 is pretty prominently displayed) at the main gate. But we have not felt at all unsafe here.

We have specific requests: Almost none of the nurses own a stethoscope. We would like to make sure that each nurse has one. I am making arrangements for shipment—if anyone would like to contribute toward that, please contact me. There are about 30 nurses, only about 2 have stethoscopes.

We continue to need help for our patients who have no money to pay for scans. We also have a few children who need radiation or chemotherapy after brain tumor resection—with that they could be cured, without it, they will probably die from recurrence of the tumor. Contributions to the BKKH Pediatric Neurosurgery Patient Subsidy Fund go toward those kinds of costs.

Leland is still looking for funding for a second Pediatric Neurosurgery Fellow. We have an excellent candidate but have no funding for his position. Leland has made contacts with pediatric neurosurgery associations in the US and with medical equipment companies but so far has found no funds. Medtronic continues to fund Humphrey Okechi’s fellowship which will extend another year. We know that Humphrey was and continues to be an answer to prayer.

BKKH continues to struggle with ongoing funding of care to the children who need surgery. We need creative ideas to provide funding long-term to support surgery here—both general pediatric surgery and pediatric neurosurgery--so that the children of Kenya have access to basic care.

Most of all we need your continued prayers—for health, patience, love for those with whom we work, wisdom in the choices we face every day, the administration of BKKH, the new Nursing Matron, the nurses and staff.

Well, the short rains are here. The winds at night have returned. We have come full circle in this year—death and new life, brutality and incomparable beauty. What a wonderful place this is—the place God has brought us, sustained us. Wherever we are, it is the place God has put us to serve him.

“To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy—to the only God our Saviour be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and for evermore! Amen." Jude 24-25.

Take care, God bless.

Susan